-- post mental --
-- post mental --
Scenes from a Day in a Life
i am sitting inside a McDonalds restaurant in siam Center, bangkok, desperately trying to read a book, drinking coffee, while i wait for a friend. she told me once amazing things about her trips across africa. i am reading a book which among other things, discusses how history is fictionalized and fiction is historicized. but it is impossible to concentrate above the din of other customers talking incessantly while their mobile phones ring every 30 seconds. so i write you instead.
Scene 1
to my left, a woman dressed in black, fusses over her daughter who
is perhaps two years old. the mother seems like an upper middle
class woman, relatively smartly dressed and talks quite loud for a tiny,
very slim, person. if she isn't stuffing her mouth
with handfuls of french fries and talking while she chewed, i
would have been convinced that she possessed some grace.
Scene 2
five young girls, probably in their early 20s sit opposite my
table. they are all quite pretty and barely dressed. one wears a
white top with floral drawings -- her navel shows, the other is
only wearing a handkerchief, i assume she doesn't have
a bra. the rest wear something like an elastic, sheen,
rubbery cloth that hugs their upper bodies so tight, i wonder
how they breathe. they all wear tight jeans and thong underwear.
i know, i can see through the lines on their behinds. they all
look so relaxed and therefore breathing quite naturally. they
are all fixing their hair or moistening their lips. they all
look happy and it seems that they all have a bright future. good
for them.
Scene 3
to my right, a white man soliciting a young thai man or vice versa. are they lovers? are they friends?
are they both? are they picking up each other? are they going to
go
off somewhere to a nice hotel and make love at 12 noon? the white
man looks like he is 50 years old. the young man looks 20.
he has a smile on his face. he has time on his hands.
Scene 4
two women. one is a filipina, a woman who writes
poems when she is bored. and therefore, the poems are badly
written. the other, an american who used to work in tanzania and
fell in love with a burmese in thailand. they are talking about
their lives, their loves, their rooms, their books, their favorite writers and their plans in the next month, or probably
next year; they gesture. they laugh. they make faces.
they seem like nice women who are like everyone else walking
about in siam square at twelve noon, with time in their hands.
and hope on their pockets.
26 January 2001
Bangkok, Thailand, a clear day
(The writer, Cynthia Buiza, has been residing in Thailand for two years now, working with non-government organizations assisting refugees.)